


The Illusions of the Music Box

by CherLnIDA



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Drama & Romance, M/M, Psychological Horror, Slow Build, Surreal, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:47:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29884785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherLnIDA/pseuds/CherLnIDA
Summary: Husker and Alastor are considered inseparable through their years of partnership, but they miss the days of their lives when they weren't demons. Husk one day tells Alastor that he bought tickets for a steam peddler boat for the two to go on and enjoy their week on the River Styx. Their time together comes to a halt once the boat hits land...An island that sticks out from other parts of Hell.Blue sky, beautiful clouds, flowers and green grass...
Relationships: Alastor/Husk (Hazbin Hotel)
Kudos: 15





	The Illusions of the Music Box

**Author's Note:**

> Aqua Vitae will be updated. I'm just swamped by writing projects!! Hey peeps, this is my first RadioHusk fic so I hope you enjoy it. I was really inspired by the Steam peddler boats that run along the Mississippi River; I never been on one but I always felt like Alastor would enjoy them.

The Illusions of the Music Box 

By Cherilyn Ohlau 

Hazbin Hotel is owned by Vivienne "Vivziepop" Medrano

  
  


_ Oranges and lemons, _

_ Say the bells of St. Clement's. _

_ You owe me five farthings, _

_ Say the bells of St. Martin's. _

_ When will you pay me?  _

_ Say the bells of Old Bailey.  _

_ When I grow rich, _

_ Say the bells of Shoreditch.  _

_ When will that be?  _

_ Say the bells of Stephney.  _

_ I do not know,  _

_ Says the great bell of Bow _

_ Here comes the candle to light you to bed,  _

_ And here comes a chopper to chop off your head!  _

_ \- Oranges and Lemons _

  
  


  1. **Death Gold Years**



  
  
  


Alastor quietly eyed Husk's paw as he was seated on the bar; he cupped his cheek just watching the cat demon drown a bottle of a cheap beer brand that was more bitter than malty. Alastor had grown sentimental as of late, which was rare, his sentimentality was reserved to remembering past kills—but, the softness beneath had begun to seep in. The age of himself meant no matter, yet here he was, looking back to when he and Husk were almost inseparable...has it always been a partnership, just business cloaked in barters? Husk noticed that Alastor's usual self had diminished slightly, even his crescent smile started to quiver. Husk sighed, tapping his claws against the counter and his ears twitched. "So, uhh…" Husk started, looking interested in the ground briefly, "Ya got nothing to do?" 

Alastor chuckled, feigning that nothing was bothering him. "Paperwork is sorted, and bills are finally handled...if nothing else, I have some hours for myself," he replied, "What about you?" 

Husk briefly felt heat rise to his cheeks to the tip of his whiskers. He politely coughed. "Well, while you were busy at yer study and all...I got you a little something out of what I got for bar tips," Husk explained, "You remember them stern-wheeler paddle steamers you used to love going to?" 

"Uh, yes…" Alastor shrugged, "Used to visit one filled with tourists for a break from recording." 

"I found out there's one in Hell; not a lot of demons go there, it rides along the Styx," Husk slid over two red tickets. Alastor looked caught off guard by the sight, his ears twitching as he felt it sink in that it was for the two of them. Alastor felt as though his dead heart leapt to his throat. "Al...we're old, okay, we ain't going back...those golden years are fucking gone. Let's find some sort of enjoyment out of this shit fest even if it's a boat ride…" 

"Why of all things?" 

"Because I might not get the chance...uh, forget it," Husk replied, "Look, I told Charlie we're going and she's fine with it; just pack up, it's a week boat ride on the Styx. They got a bar, ballroom, and bedrooms...we can get a place with separate beds--"

"I don't want them separately, Husker," Alastor interrupted.

"Why? You gonna make me sleep on the couch while ya hog the mattress?" 

Alastor blanched. "No...I hardly sleep to begin with…" he replied, "I just want to be beside you again," he scoffed at his own phrasing. How sentimental and reminiscent he sounded, unlike his usual pompous airs. Husk let out a chuckle, signaling he heard it and was going to save that thought for later; causing the deer demon to feel blood rushing to his cheeks, and his ears folding to the back. 

"Anyway, get your damn bags," Husk repeated, "I'm just the barman, not your bellboy." 

Alastor let out a huff of annoyance. 

  
  


**Summerlands I** was the oldest of the steam paddle boats along the sticks, alongside  **Summerlands II** to  **VII** . It reminded Alastor of being back in Louisiana, the steam paddle boats of the Mississippi were nostalgic, and he embraced the smell of the sea air and the bellow of clouds made of steam that seemed to embrace the sky. Husk barely paid attention once they got up the boat. The ticket taker politely took their tickets, before another demon escorted them to their room upstairs meant for guests; just as Alastor requested, it was a shared bed, but it was more out of the company for each other. Husk wouldn't do anything perverse, even at his most drunken stupor, they respected each other although the distance was there like a weighted anchor...Husk pulled out a cigar from a silver case observing Alastor putting away the luggage inside the drawers. "Hey, you think you can...uh…" Husk gestured to the cigar in his fangs that were slightly punctured. Alastor glanced over.

"I thought you brought your lighter?" Alastor asked in confusion. Husk shrugged. 

"Prob's forgot it."

"That's not an answer."

"Yeah, well, my tip ain't lit…"

Alastor rolled his eyes, holding back the urge to laugh and leaned over; his fingers were together before he snapped them and a flame twirled from them. Husk examined the burning end till he waved his claw in gesturing that there was more than enough flame for his smoke. The sea air of the River Styx mixing in the smell of Husk's cigar smoke took Alastor back to Louisiana, his life on Bourbon Street; but Husk was right, they could never return to that. "I don't know whether to be happy or irritated that you're smoking on our little get together," Alastor scolded, still amused. Husk usually chugged booze every day as if one needed water, a cat with a tongue for whiskey and the cheapest liquor...this same cat was now puffing and blowing as if he finally found the relief he needed. Husk only let out a gruff chuckle. 

"And you're not freaking out about the bed thing?" Husk retorted, "You're a weird ass deer sometimes; also, it was your suggestion—getting lonely?"

They broke into laughter. It was hearty laughter that echoed through the steam paddle boats' upper floors; Husk and Alastor were two old souls that needed the other and that air vibrated. Alastor didn't want to admit again he was feeling alone without him, being prideful and cold, that was Alastor. Husk slowly got up and headed downstairs. There was a bar located on the boat and Alastor figured that the cat demon had grown tired of the cramp space; it wasn't like the hotel. The bedrooms were separated by walls like their hotel, a motel or an inn, so Husk wasn't used to just sitting in such bedrooms. The bar was his nest in an ironic way. He  _ did  _ have a room, it was just hilarious to everyone that he preferred to drink and sleep at the counter. "Do you want me to call room serv…" Alastor's voice trailed seeing only the tip of his tail sway. 

_ We're old, Al, we're not going back. _

  
  


_ Oscar was a bartender on Bourbon Street, his gruff appearance intimidated patrons the moment they asked for liquor; yet it was also this reason that people came, most men came to challenge him to arm wrestling in the corner of the bar—Oscar had more wins than losses, and he was called the Feline of the Bourbon Bar. Oscar was moody, distant, and he slept in odd places after drinking just like a cat; his boss found it more than irritating, but Oscar did his job, there was no use complaining to him. Oscar walked away from arguments, unless he was angered. It was a hot and humid afternoon when Oscar was rudely awakened from sleeping on the counter from a splash of cold water on his face and hair. He stuttered. It had to be his boss! Fucking asshole. Oscar glared up, looking ready to raise a hand, but paused at an unfamiliar face looking down at him with a mischievous grin; even the Cheshire cat would feel flattered from the look on the young Creole young man; clad in a vest and leather shoes holding a bucket in his hands. _

_ "Does the kitty of Bourbon Street hate water?"  _

_ What gall! Oscar glared up at the other man in annoyance. "And you are?"  _

_ "Alastor," was the reply. Oscar scoffed and he examined the man before him. He was awfully dainty for a male, short too, but they were almost the same height. Oscar figured he could break Alastor like a twig in an arm wrestling match given the chance. "You liked your wake up call?" Alastor laughed.  _

_ "Wake up call?!" Oscar exclaimed, grabbing Alastor by his collar, "You could have shaken my arm or somethin'! Yet you dump cold as shit water on my head?! If this was in Winter I woulda—" _

_ "Louisiana summers are vicious aren't they?" _

_ "Don't change the subject! Why'd ya dump that cold water on me?!"  _

_ Alastor looked at him, pausing. "I wanted to see your smile…" Oscar let go, almost instantly, "You're so stiff and uptight, my fellow. Have you ever smiled once?"  _

_ Oscar was speechless, practically dumbfounded. "Are you fucking shitting me? My smile? You dumped water on my head and expected me to be happy about it?!" he yelled, "I should punch your lights out— _ achoo-!"  _ He felt a wash of embarrassment. It grew with more intensity when Alastor started giggling and covering his mouth. Oscar couldn't believe this odd swirl in his belly, how it fluttered and burned at this oddly beautiful sound of the other letting out giggles. "Hey, d-don't rub it in...it's your fault…" Oscar huffed, but he felt his stoic expression start to curl. He smiled for the first time in years. This silly man that appeared to prank him, made him smile in the bar. Oh, wait a minute. "HOW THE FUCK DID YOU GET IN HERE?! WE'RE CLOSED, AL!"  _

_ "The backdoor was open…"  _

_ Oh. Figures... _

  
  


Husk was busy playing Hearts at the table with some other guests. He found it hard to focus because of the ripples coming from his head; the memory of meeting Alastor was like a card in his claw that he couldn't fold. This man, this one man. He wanted to give happiness to someone who went down the path of blood; the guilt was heavy. He wasn't there enough for Alastor when he was alive, now here he was. Alastor was no longer the young kindred man who wanted to see his smile anymore, it was more out of force than a sway. Husk slammed the alcohol glass on the table. The rage inside exploded like a firecracker in front of the other guests. They looked at Husk in confusion, wondering if his liquor had grown warm. "Uh, sir, are you alright?" one of the staff asked out of concern. Husk snapped.

"It's my fucking fault he ended up a murderer!" Husk yelled. Eyes widened in surprise, shock and bewilderment. Husk caught his breath, but each breath was hot and heavy. "Damn it...I…" I want to go back if I could, I never wanted this to happen to him, Husk thought in his haze. It was hard to focus on the game, yet the players at the table were patiently waiting for a turn or fold. 

"Sir, do you need water?" I don't want it. "How about an escort to your room?" (And make Al see me? No thanks.)

"Just get off ah me…" He grunted, "I'll...I'm...I'll be fine." He looked at the glass. The amber gold ambrosia became a crescent at the bottom of the glass, it reminded him of Alastor's now twisted and dark smile. "I'll be fine...I'll be fine…" he repeated, more to himself than to anyone concerned. Husk waved the staff off and returned to his cards, pretending that the outburst prior seemed to have not happened. "I'm skipping my turn," he said. 

The table was silent except for the sound of cards being folded and being pulled. It was soon going to rotate to Husk's turn. It was best to start conversation before he let out another burst like a smashed egg. "So…" 

"Fuck it! I'm out!" a sinner exclaimed, hitting a void in his cards, "Oh, you wanted to say something, Husker?" 

"Is...is anyone here married or engaged?" Husk slurred.

There was a polite chuckle from the group of demons at such a question. "What, like in our living life, or our death life?" was the question brought up. Husk poured more cognac into his glass.

"Either. I don't care. I'm just curious…" 

"Husk, are you planning or—?" one of the demons said, holding back laughter. Husk's ears flattened for a moment before they perked, letting a soft rotation. 

"Uh, um...n-n-no...nothin' like that!" Husk replied, "Look, in my living life, I never got to marry. I had a girlfriend but she died in the 20s, late 20s, and ya know...I met a person...I met a  _ person  _ who just ended up...en-ended up going downhill quickly. It was terrible when I...foou...nd…"

"You found what?" 

"Um...I found a wild deer...it was cut up real bad by domestic dogs from the town—it's neck...torn…" Husk held his head, nausea kicking in, "Hooves...b-broken…" 

There were confused glances. "But what does this have to do with this person you like?" 

Husk was silent and said he skipped his next turn in advance. 

  
  


The rest of the day was uneventful; when the heavenly moon rose from the distance, Alastor was relaxing on the patio with a glass of whiskey in his hand. Husk noticed he had been quiet throughout the entire drive along the Styx, even if they did share banter back and forth when room service came with a teleporting trolley cart. Alastor looked stoic for once, which was rare as he kept that Cheshire cat grin; Husk hesitantly walked over seeing him drink the shots, or staring at the glass. "Ya look troubled, Al," Husk said standing over Alastor in his recliner chair, "You're not mad about me gambling during our break?" 

"You know how I feel about indulging in sins by now, Husk," Alastor gave a weary chuckle, "It's  _ your  _ money, not mine, chum." 

"Then why are you drinking shots of whiskey?" 

Alastor paused and looked at his shot glass. "Just in the mood for something to wake me up a bit!" Husk could tell he was lying through his teeth. "This Firebrand Whiskey is simply divine!" he added.

"It will also numb ya up if you drink a lot of it," Husk sighed, "So what's gotten you drinking Hellborn made liquor?" 

"Oh it's nothing I suppose!" 

"You're barely smiling…" Husk said. 

"Yes, well…" 

"Just thinking?" 

Alastor laughed dryly. "That's all you've been doing too, I suppose?" he joked and Husk flinched at it. Thinking. Thinking of the hounds that clawed at him...he was found like a broken animal...and that's all Husk could think about. Husk was a little drunk and angry, but he had nowhere to put his emotions into. It was a powder keg ready to blow.

"Yeah," Husk replied, gruffly, "But Alastor...um...I…I was wondering...how...how about—" he pauses when the steam peddler boat suddenly moved back and forth aggressively. It almost threatened to cap size, and the Styx on the river felt more like the sea. Alastor struggled to keep his balance, but held onto the doorknob of their bedroom in case it would suddenly start sinking; but then it came, it wasn't water that rushed in that flooded everything. It was a flood of white clouds, the fog had rolled in and then came the shakes from within the boat as though it was an earthquake. Husk held onto Alastor tightly as they endured...then the boat tilted on its side and their heads met against the wall. They were unconscious; and Alastor could barely keep his eyes open as he noticed blue skies above them before it went dark. 

They barely had any meaningful conversations before the crash, and it angered Husk to no end that such an accident happened. Husk almost sprung awake and realized that Alastor was off the steam peddler and also regaining his composure. Why did Alastor look so confused looking at the boat? It's not like...ohh...that's one of the reasons why. The steam peddler was tilted on the side, but it wasn't capsized, and where was everyone? "Husk! Are you alright, my fellow?" Alastor called, "I knew you weren't dead, you have nine lives now!" 

"Stuff it with the cat jokes!" Husk yelled as he jumped over to the land, "Where the hell are we?" 

"Good question...I honestly wish I knew…" Alastor admitted, "But this place is awfully odd. Blue skies, clouds, and this island we landed in is quite green." 

"Pffft, you think we're in heaven?"

"No, this might be part of purgatory, perhaps, or…" he paused, looking around, "Well, I have an idea but of course it's not confirmed yet, but until then I can only think that this place has always been on the river." Alastor explained but Husk scuffed at the explanation.

"What happened to the others? They were on the boat with us," Husk pointed, "They can't just up and disappear like that! Like, some sorta Bermuda Triangle shit!" 

"You underestimate Hell sometimes; as for the staff and other guests...it is quite troubling…" 

Husk grimaced and started checking the rooms, there was no one else except for turned over furniture and sand; each area reeked of sea salt and was briney. It didn't add up and Husk had the feeling that attempting to fly was a bad idea, as if a hand would pluck him from the sky and drown him. Husk instead went to Alastor, sharing confused glances. "Want me to scout out the island?" Husk offered, "They might be in this place." They might be, Alastor questioned Husk's slim optimism because he knew if the staff and everyone were there, they wouldn't have left the boat in disarray. Alastor knew deep down the other demon felt the same. 

"No, my friend, I'm following you," Alastor said firmly. 

Blue skies, rolling clouds, water so clear in rivers to dainty ponds, and flora, shrubs, and grass so green and soft that when Alastor planted his claw into it, it left an imprint. This was uncanny to the demons, and it didn't help the air was wrong too. They were only still in Hell, the smell of brimstone and fire was in the distance but this was none of the nine circles. There were houses, one to three stories, with lavish gardens and farms. It was too much like a holy place, a special place in heaven, but this was Hell...why did such a patch exist? What was this little dream doing amongst the dead and suffering? Husk shivered. 

"What's wrong?" Alastor asked, climbing over a small picket fence into the front yard of the house.

"This place rubs me the wrong way," Husk huffed. 

"Yes, I understand this place is quite uncanny as we're used to red skies; but it's still part of Hell and that's all that matters!" Alastor exclaimed, knocking on the door. There wasn't an answer at first until the door slowly creaked open, and small hands and a youthful human child peeked out from the door, keeping it slightly ajar but she was obscure enough by the shadows within. 

"Yes?" 

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
